Wild Wild West The Night of the Couch

"I don't know what came over me Doc.," said the man in what was either a very bad Irish brogue  
or a very bad English accent. Either way it was bloody awful. "I want to be like other bad  
guys....I really, really do."  
  
The Doctor, a broad faced, gray haired gent with glasses perched at the end of his long nose  
nodded and picked up his pad and pencil. "And vhat makes you tink you can't be ziss kind ov  
bad guy?" he posed in an equally horrible German accent.  
  
The handsome dark haired man with the mustache and receding hairline didn't seem to notice the  
horridness of the accent and pushed forward. "I want to kiss the unwilling lady in  
distress...maybe even tear her dress. I want to menace the near nude woman...and pound the  
hero into the dust. I really want to do that...pound him..over and over and over and  
over...pound pound pound pound... What? Ummm huh? Sorry...I lost my train of thought."  
  
The Doctor scribbled quickly and smiled mildly. "You were pounding the hero."  
  
"Right." said the man nervously looking down at his lap before he looked up at the cracked  
plaster on the ceiling. "But it didn't turn out that way."  
  
"How did it turn out?" The Doctor watched the way the gentleman fidgeted on the couch.  
  
"I was watching my men beat the hero...watching the hero dodge and feint and throw out punches  
and rolls that made him look almost like a dancer and by sheer numbers and luck we managed to  
knock him unconscious."  
  
"Und you killed him?"  
  
"NO!" No...I didn't." said the man, his accent dropping and reappearing in his distress. "I  
saw him lying there. Helpless. I could have put a bullet right between those perfectly  
spaced eyes, but I didn't."  
  
"So vhat did you do?"  
  
The man's voice dropped to a confessional whisper. "I undressed him...tied his arms high over  
his head...surrounded him with explosives and waited for him to wake up so I could see him  
struggle then mock him and leave."  
  
The Doctor bent over his pad and scribbled more madly then before. "Interesting!"  
  
The man laying on the couch smoothed his blousy blue pirate shirt and folded his hands  
nervously over his lap again.  
  
"And vhat vent through your mind vhen you did zhat?" asked the aged medico.  
  
"I don't know...I...I felt a little light headed...giddy." The Irish was erasing itself  
quickly. "You see he has this perfect chest and muscle definition I've tried for years to  
achieve and never could. The hair on his chest is light colored and I almost wanted to floss  
my teeth with it!" The doctor noted the beads of sweat forming on the patient's brow. "The  
man had these incredible abdominal muscles in six perfectly bunched groups and the way I had  
him tied elongated those muscles in an incredible way. The sun was hot and he was sweating  
slightly and his hair was tousled and and and....OH GOD!"  
  
The doctor reached out a comforting hand and laid it on the man's broad shoulder and watched,  
with fascination, as he winced and drew away.  
  
"Tell me...did you remove his pants?"  
  
The man closed his eyes tightly, either trying not to see or trying to remember desperately.  
"I wanted to! But my men were standing there...looking at me. I could get away  
with telling them that by taking off his shirt I was making sure he had no weapons. BUT HIS  
PANTS?! I couldn't. Anyway...it would have ruined THE LOOK. The pants themselves made me a wreck. Blue fabric  
which had no wrinkle or pucker.. part of him as much as a savage's tattoo! And the bastard  
wore these black, shining, oiled, glistening leather chaps that made every muscle in his thighs stand out.  
I remember walking around the pole he was tied to and thinking how nuts it was that one man  
could have this kind of beauty. He was a GOD! AND I HATED HIM!" The man bent his head and sobbed. "Please  
tell me I'm not sick...please tell me I'm not crazy....Please PLEASE tell me I'm normal!!!!"  
  
The doctor removed his glasses and cleaned them soberly and looked up sadly.  
  
"I'm sorry....but I must tell you zhat zhis kind of unnatural attraction is a sign of severe  
mental illness und you are quivte insane."  
  
The man began to sob uncontrollably and shake like a victim of palsy as he slowly stood and vacated the therapist's couch and handed the seated doctor his fee and stumbled out the door into the crowded waiting room. He ignored the stares of a white haired man who smelled faintly of fish...a man wrapped in a towel...a huge man with a top hat who plucked at his beard worriedly and others who watched and waited for their turn on the leather upholstered furniture. He ran. Past the receptionist who didn't seem as pretty as he thought when he'd entered the building...and into the street. He never returned.  
  
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The old man adjusted his glasses and picked up his pad and pencil.   
  
"Now vhat zeems to be zee problem?"  
  
"I want to kill a man...elaborately and preferably while he's half dressed."  
  
When the voice came from the direction of the couch the doctor was startled to look up and see no one. Then looking down the length of the sofa he registered that the man was height impaired. He jotted this down...perhaps he's overcompensating...but it might be something he'd been seeing a lot of lately.   



End file.

Wild Wild West, Humor